


Letters from a Korean Christmas

by BardicRaven



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardicRaven/pseuds/BardicRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone else's letters home flow so easily – why can't Margaret's?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters from a Korean Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calliatra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliatra/gifts).



#  **Dear Dad - Hawkeye**

Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce staggered into the Swamp and fell in the general direction of his cot, narrowly missing disaster due to a fall that was not so much aimed as allowed to happen. The gods of health and healing must have been smiling on him, because instead of ending up on the floor in the middle of god-knew-what filth and debris, he landed on his cot, a bit sprawled, but otherwise of good health and bodily integrity.

He reached blindly for his notebook, arm flailing vaguely in its direction before giving up and falling back on his chest. It was nearing Christmastime and he owed his father a letter.

But... so tired.

Tomorrow.

He was asleep before he'd finished the thought.

 

**********************

_Dear Dad,_

_Once again it's time for the holidays and once again, the enemy has forgotten the definition of 'cease-fire'. I'm tempted to grab a jeep, drive to the peace talks, and deliver one in person._

_It was another long day in surgery yesterday, another one in a too-long series of them. I don't want to remember the blood, the pain, the mind- and heart-numbing hours, so I'm not going to tell you about them here._

_It's Christmastime and it's supposed to be a time of peace._

_So what is peaceful around here? Not much. If it's not Klinger and his crazy attempts to get out of the army, it's Sergeant Rizzo finding a new and more creative way to do his job by not doing his job. If Henry's not practicing his imitation of a commanding officer, Father Mulcahy's around drumming up money for Saint Teresa's orphanage._

_One big happy family. Too bad we're not all back in the States being a big happy family there._

_I'd write more, Dad, but Radar's marching across the compound with that look in his eye that says I'm needed in surgery._

_I love you, Dad. Can't wait until I'm back home and we can drink a few beers and celebrate Christmas in person._

 

_Love,_

_your son,_

_Hawkeye_

 

 

#  **Dear Sweetheart - Trapper John**

Trapper John MacIntyre bounced into the Swamp. It had actually been a good day for once, and he wanted to take advantage of the moment and of his good mood to write a Christmas letter home.

He snagged Hawkeye's notebook and pen from the table near the still – Hawkeye wouldn't miss them and besides, he'd want to help his bunkmate share the Yuletide cheer – and flopped into the nearest chair and began to write.

 

_Dear Louise,_

_I can't wait to get back home to see you and the girls. I'll bet Cathy and Becky are growing up so fast – they'll be young ladies before we know it._

_Before we know it. I wish I were home with you and the girls right now, sweetheart. I wish that more and more every day._

_But this stupid war keeps dragging on with no signs of stopping and sometimes I begin to think I'll never get home, never see you or the girls again._

_Those are the days I seriously begin to think of going A.W.O.L.. Don't worry - I won't actually do it. But the Army can't stop me from thinking it._

_But enough about that. I wasn't writing this letter to depress you, but rather to share some of the good things that have been happening around here._

_Father Mulcahy has outdone himself this year. Between organizing the arrival of a huge Christmas tree (and finding the personal to stuff it into the mess tent and decorate it) he's also been busy marshalling the troops in support of Saint Teresa's orphanage._

_He even found some yarn and some knitting needles and managed to convince the nurses to knit up some hats and scarves in their spare time. Heck, I even gave it a go one day - I'm enclosing the result. It may not be perfect, but my fingers sure were nimble next time I was in surgery._

_Klinger is still busy trying to get OUT of the Army by proving he's too crazy to stay IN the Army. The other day he dressed as Santa Claus and would only speak to people with 'Ho! Ho! Ho!' until Colonel Blake ordered him to knock it off._

_Frank is still as much of a ferret-face as ever. In his off-hours, he keeps marching around with his Bible, capturing anyone who will listen (mostly enlisted men who don't have a choice) and preaching about how we 'need to put the Christ back in Christmas' and stop all of this 'secular festivizing', as Father Mulcahy would say. Nobody listens to him, but he sure is a pain in the pulpit._

_So that's it for now, sweetheart. I'd write more, but I have a hot date with my pillow. Give my love to the girls - I miss you guys more and more each day. I can't wait to come home and give each of you a big hug and kiss in person._

_Love,_

_Trapper_

 

 

#  **Dear Father - Part I**

Margaret Houlihan marched into her tent and sat down at her desk with military precision, pulling out paper and her favorite pen as if she were preparing to do battle.

And in a way, she was. Christmas was coming, and it was time to send a letter to her father.

It was her duty, and God knew she always did her duty.

 

_Dear Father,_

She stared at the paper for a long moment, willing the words to come to her to relieve the almost accusatory whiteness of the paper. They didn't respond tho' - not even to the sternest order she could come up with, the kind that made enlisted men quake in their army-boots.

It came as a relief when Nurse Kellye knocked on her tent door, asking for help with a patient. It was embarrassing to endure insubordination from words on a page, or rather, not on a page.

“I'll be right there,” she answered as she put the notebook and pen carefully away. Time later to make the words come.

 

 

#  **Dear Ma – Klinger**

_Dear Ma,_

_It's cold and snowy here, but what do you expect from New Jersey?_

_The Army really knows how to hurt a fella – they've still got us doing calisthenics outside - in the snow! Gets us moving though, I have to give them that._

_I wear the bandanna you gave me every day. I tuck it inside my shirt so no-one can see it. The Army and its stupid dress codes, you know._

_I miss you so much – you and everybody else. I can't wait to get back to Toledo and go to a Mudhen's game, eat a fried pickle at Tony Paco's, and hang out with all the old gang._

_Give everyone a hug and a kiss from me. I love you all._

_Gotta go, Ma. I hear a whole barrel of potatoes calling my name. (When I get home, I am never going to even LOOK at a potato again!)_

_Lotsa love,_

_Max_

 

 

#  **Dear Father - Part II**

_Dear Father_

_The weather here has been cold, but fair. A little snow last week, but nothing we couldn't handle. Treated more than two dozen wounded, injured when the peace talks broke down. Everyone's doing well so far, although we've had some trouble with fungus._

 

She crumpled the letter in disgust – it read more like a report to her commanding officer than a letter to her father. Why couldn't she write to him like a human being?

 

 

#  **Interlude – Margaret, Hawkeye**

Margaret knocked furtively on the door of the SWAMP. “Pierce! Let me in.”

“Margaret! A dream come true. Come into my lair, said the spider to the fly.”

“Oh, shut up, Pierce.” She walked over to where Pierce lounged in one of the tent's two army armchairs.

“Well, if it's not for a night in the ever-loving arms of yours truly, then what did you come for?” he asked curiously.

Margaret shifted uncomfortably.

Hawkeye's eyes widened. “Margaret! You're not...”

“Shut UP, Pierce! No, I'm not. I'm just having trouble writing this letter to my father.”

“Why come to me?”

“Everybody knows you write letters to your Dad all the time.”

“Why not go to Frank? Not that I'm not flattered, but shouldn't old Ferret-face be the one to...?”

“Frank couldn't write his way out of a paper bag,” she replied harshly, cutting him off. "Besides, Frank doesn't have a father any more. He hasn't got the experience."

She sat down in the other chair, after sweeping several pieces of she really didn't want to know what off the seat and snagging Trapper's yellow bathrobe to cover the remainder.

"Will you help me, Pierce?"

"I'll try," he said gently, respecting the plea in her voice. "What do you want to know?"

"What's it's like, Pierce?"

"What's what like?"

"What it's like to have a dad, not a father? Ever since mom... left, Dad's been so... distant. I don't know what to say to him anymore. If I ever did."

She got up, began to pace around the tent, dodging the debris scattered about. "You know my father wanted a son. When I was born, I was such a terrible disappointment to him. I'm STILL a terrible disappointment to him."

"And you're wondering why you can't write to him?" Hawkeye moved over to his cot and patted it. "Come here for a little bit. I promise, no funny business."

"You'd better not, Pierce. Or I'll have you in the stockade so fast...."

"Relax. I'll behave myself."

"That's what I'm afraid of,” she muttered, but came over and sat down. Hawkeye carefully put his arms around her.

She stiffened, began to pull away. "Relax, Margaret. My intentions are purely honorable."

"Since when?"

"Since right now. So relax, already! You're wound up so tight, it's no wonder the words won't come."

“I don't think they'll ever come,” she whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek.

He wiped it away with a gentle finger. “They'll come when they're ready.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed in his arms.

 

 

#  **Dear Sis – Father Mulcahy**

Father Mulcahy closed his Bible with a satisfied *thump^^. His sermon was ready. Whether or not anybody would show up to the service or not... well, that was God's Will.

In the meantime, he had a letter to write. God willing, it might even make it home before Spring.

 

_Dear Sis,_

_Once again Christmastime is here, and the guns are still sending their messages of war. “Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards men” seems to be forgotten._

_I've been doing the best I can for the orphans – raising money, getting them food, medicine, warm clothing. But it never seems enough._

_There is so much need here, Sis. So much pain and suffering._

_Light a candle for me, will you? I need to know that somewhere there is a light burning in this darkness._

_Love,_

_Francis_

 

 

#  **Dear Father – part III**

At long last, the words came. Margaret wrote them down quickly, lest they escape again before she could capture them on the page.

 

_Dear Dad,_

_Wishing you a Merry Christmas._

_Love,_

_Margaret_

 

It wasn't perfect, but it would do. Smiling at last, Margaret tucked the letter in its envelope, daring to give it a daughterly kiss as she sealed it and tucked it carefully away to go out with tomorrow's mail call. It was finally ready to begin its journey home.

She turned out the light, satisfied with a job well-done and a letter well-written, smiling as her head settled gently down on her pillow.

Mission accomplished.

Duty done.


End file.
